


Call On Me, Brother

by tinydooms



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: Brotherhood, Found Family, Friends taking care of each other, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, remembered trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms
Summary: Jonathan Carnahan is not certain where he is. He knows that he is curled up on the floor, and that he is cold, and that rain is pouring down. But he cannot be certain whether he is in his bedroom in Cairo during a rare Egyptian downpour or if he is back in the trenches on the Front.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Call On Me, Brother

**Call On Me, Brother**

_"In the darkest hour, when the demons come, call on me, brother, and we will fight them together." --unknown_

_Cairo, December 1923_

Jonathan Carnahan is not certain where he is. He knows that he is curled up on the floor, and that he is cold, and that rain is pouring down. But he cannot be certain whether he is in his bedroom in Cairo during a rare Egyptian downpour or if he is back in the trenches on the Front. 

He had been sleeping when a crash sent him diving for cover. The rainy tumult is as fierce as it was unexpected. One of the shutters has got loose and is flapping about in the wind. _Bang._ The big guns going off, earth and men and horses exploding under its rain. _Bang._ A rainstorm in Cairo. _Bang._ Over the top; _let’s go, men! Bang._ Cold tiles under his body, blankets twisted around his limbs. _Bang._ Someone wailing: a wounded soldier? Or Jonathan, lying on the floor in Cairo?

“Jonathan!” 

_Bang._

“Get down, damn it! They’ll kill you!”

Rick had not been in Flanders, but he is here now, dropping down beside Jonathan and hunkering down. 

“I’m okay; I’m fine. How’re you doing, Sergeant?”

“I’ve been better.” _Bang._ Jonathan flinches and covers his ears. “I can’t hear a damn thing over these guns!” 

“Fucking awful night,” O’Connell agrees. “At least it’s friendly fire.”

“Friendly?” hisses Jonathan. _Bang._ “They’re mining us--we have to stop it--can’t you hear them?” _Bang._

“I hear them,” O’Connell says. “It’s just our sappers at work, laying down the lines. No worries.”

“Our sappers?” _Bang._

“Yeah,” O’Connell shifts to his knees. “Though now you mention it, there’s a sniper...wait…” 

He crawls along the floor, miraculously mud free in this muddy, filthy night. _Bang._ Jonathan watches with bated breath. _Bang._ O’Connell leaps up, seizes the loose shutter, slams it closed. Latches it. He drops back down again. 

“Got ‘em,” he says. “Sappers brought the tower down. It’ll be okay now.”

Something loosens in Jonathan’s chest. “You’re sure it’s safe?”

“Positive,” O’Connell says, quite cheerful. He reaches for Jonathan’s blanket and shakes it out. “Here, you might as well get some rest while you can. I’ll keep watch.”

Jonathan takes the blanket, wraps it around himself. The guns have fallen silent; O’Connell has worked his magic. The rain pours down, but it is outside now. Still, he hesitates to relax. 

“You’re _quite_ sure it’s safe?”

“ _Quait_ sure,” O’Connell says in a terrible cod English accent. “Tell you what, some of the guys have made hot drinks. You want one? Hot chocolate.”

Jonathan, huddled in his blanket, is shaking all over. He nods. O’Connell leaves his side, crawls along the trench--or is it the bedroom?--and takes something from someone Jonathan cannot see. 

“Thanks, recruit,” he says to the person. “You’re dismissed. Here,” he adds, putting the mug into Jonathan’s hands. “Drink up, sergeant.”

Jonathan drinks. The hot chocolate is thick and spiced, fragrant with cinnamon and nutmeg. His mum’s recipe. Beside him, O’Connell has his own mug. They sit in silence, side by side, the rain outside falling less frantically now. Yes, it is outside. The rain is outside, and they are inside, in his own room at home, not out in the trenches, half-drowned in Flanders mud. They are both wearing pajamas, too, not uniforms. Safe. They are safe. The screams and crashes fade, though they don’t vanish entirely, and Jonathan is huddled on his bedroom floor beside Rick, his brother, drinking hot chocolate as the rain falls. 

Rick is watching him closely. 

“Where are we, sergeant?”

“In my room,” Jonathan mumbles. “At home in Zamalek.”

“Good.” Rick squeezes his arm. “That’s good, Jon.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan whispers. 

“Don’t be. It happens to us all. There’s no shame in it.”

Rick settles down beside him, drinking his hot chocolate, and Jonathan is suddenly so grateful for him that he almost breaks down into tears. To hide it, he takes a deep draft of his drink. 

For a long while they sit in silence. Both finish their hot chocolate, and then Rick takes the mugs and stands, putting them on the bedside table. He tugs Jonathan upright. 

“Come on, sarge, let’s get you to bed. Here, take this.” 

Improbably, Rick produces a teaspoon and a bottle of bromide. Jonathan sinks down onto the edge of the bed and tries to summon enough bravado to give him a baleful look. He fails.

“Come on, it’ll help,” Rick says. “Just a bit.”

“I suppose I should ask who made you boss,” Jonathan says, meekly submitting to the sedative. He sags against his pillows. 

“I outrank you,” Rick replies, shaking out and arranging the blankets. “My last promotion was to captain.”

Jonathan wants to reply, but the bromide is taking effect. Instead he reaches for his brother’s hand and grips it. Rick returns the squeeze, accepting Jonathan’s gratitude. He sits beside him on the mattress until Jonathan is asleep, his breath deep and even. Then Rick eases himself up and goes to Evie, waiting at the door. 

“He’ll be alright,” he says. “It was the shutter that set him off, I think. I’ll fix it properly in the morning.”

“I always worry when he gets like this,” Evie whispers. “You’re sure he’ll be alright?”

“As any of us can ever be,” Rick says, but he is optimistic. None of them are alone anymore. 

Author's Note: this is a companion piece to my fic, [These Quiet Shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961160), which takes place about a year previous to this one. I owe a debt of thanks to Dorothy L. Sayers, who has a scene somewhat similar to this in her book _Whose Body?_ , which served as a template to this one. Caveat: I do not have ptsd, nor do I know anyone with it, so any mistakes in my portrayal are my fault. 


End file.
